


The Hand That Feeds

by octopus_fool



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Animals, Friendship, Gen, dain2k15
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-20
Updated: 2015-07-20
Packaged: 2018-04-10 07:57:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 668
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4383665
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/octopus_fool/pseuds/octopus_fool
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dáin wanders off into the forest alone and discovers something unexpected.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Hand That Feeds

**Author's Note:**

> Very vaguely inspired by the prompt for day 1 of dain2k15, “home again”.
> 
> The Khuzdul should have mouse-over text and there is a word bank at the end. I'm not particularly good at Khuzdul yet, so let me know if I made a mistake.

Dáin reached for his axe. They were within sight of the Iron Hills, an area that had been safe for as long as he remembered. Judging by the sounds coming from the bushes, that was no longer the case.

He shifted his weight onto one of his crutches in such a way that he might be able to manage the axe without tumbling over. Perhaps he should have taken some of his guards with him after all. The wound may have healed well but he had not yet tackled the task of learning to fight without his second leg. There had been little need. He would learn to do so once he was home again and had his [ kannu makhabbul](). But he would rather kiss a dragon than not give whatever orcs might come at him a good fight.

Except that it wasn’t an orc that came out of the bushes. It was a young boar, foraging in the ground for acorns and grubs. It snuffled around, not even noticing his presence at first. Then it looked up and trotted over to Dáin.

Dáin had heard enough stories about dwarves being skewered by boars. But this one did not seem angry, merely curious, and it was just large enough that Dáin was not too worried that its mother would come charging out of the bushes in its defence.

It snuffled at his leg, then at his hand. It grunted and nudged at Dáin’s hand. Cautiously, Dáin ran his hand across its rough bristles. It closed its eyes and pressed its head against him. Dáin had to laugh.

“What a strange beastie you are. Have you no sense to be so friendly to strangers?”

The boar grunted again and began snuffling at Dáin’s pocket.

Dáin pulled out the piece of old bread inside. “Is this what you want then? Are you here to steal my bread?”

The boar looked up at him with its beady little eyes.

“Alright then, here you go,” Dáin said, tossing it the bread. 

The boar squealed and the piece of bread disappeared faster than Dáin could look. In no time at all, the boar was looking expectantly back at Dáin.

“Sorry, that’s all I have. I’m afraid you’ll have to go back to acorns,” Dáin said, walking back towards the camp.

The boar followed after him.

“You can go now. As nice as it was to meet you, you really don’t have to follow me. You won’t be getting any more bread from me.”

The boar just trotted after him. Distracted by it, Dáin tripped over a root and would have crashed to the ground if the boar hadn’t sped up and stabilised him.

“Well look at you, all polite and thankful for your dinner,” Dáin laughed once he had regained his balance. “I suppose I could see if there are any leftovers for you in camp.”

The guards grinned when they saw Dáin’s companion. “Did you find us dinner?”

“You do know you have to kill it first?”

“Beastie here isn’t dinner. It will be our guest until it decides to leave.”

The guards laughed and shook their heads, but Beastie barely spared them a glance. Instead, it followed Dáin through the camp to the kitchen tents, where he made sure it got a big bucket of slop. Dáin left it with the food at the edge of the camp, making sure all the guards knew it was not to be harmed.

Late that evening, when Dáin had settled into his bed roll, he was torn from his dozing by a low grunt. The flap of the tent shifted and there was the clear outline of a young boar against the burnt-down campfire. Snuffling and grunting, it inspected the tent. Finally, the boar threw itself onto the ground beside Dáin. It pressed its head against Dáin’s hand and Dáin chuckled.

“Eager to get your head scratched, aren’t you?” 

He obliged. Perhaps he wouldn’t just be bringing home injuries and death counts after all.

**Author's Note:**

> kannu makhabbul – leg that is forged


End file.
